


We Found Love Right Where We Are

by horchatita394, weathervaanes, wishingonalightningbolt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Marriage Proposal, Oblivious Scott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4392287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horchatita394/pseuds/horchatita394, https://archiveofourown.org/users/weathervaanes/pseuds/weathervaanes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishingonalightningbolt/pseuds/wishingonalightningbolt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She needs to tell Scott that he took their first kiss, took the first declaration of love, and now took a proposal.  She can only imagine what’s next—pregnancy?  Over breakfast one day, Scott will just say, "This is where our kids are gonna eat," and smile at her sweetly before he goes back to reading the newspaper, and Kira’s head will explode.</p>
<p>-0-</p>
<p>Our reaction to Scott's "I love you" last week. Kira can only take so much obliviousness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Found Love Right Where We Are

**Author's Note:**

> We love writing Scira and we wish we did it more often but we are Sterek trash and we just can't stop. But for now, enjoy this fluffy nonsense!
> 
> And title of course comes from Ed Sheeran's "Thinking Out Loud", which is the perfect schmoopy romantic song to go with this ridiculous fic.

Like every other time in her life, in their entire relationship, Kira has no possible way to see it coming. They’re not even being romantic, hell, they aren’t even sitting next to each other while Scott flips channels and finally settles on one of those home and fashion channels. Scott is a dork. He almost always prefers House Hunters International to a basketball game.

“Look at that!” he shouts from the couch. The back of it hides him from view but Kira knows—even from where she’s standing in the kitchen—that he’s on his side curled around a pillow that is just about her height.

She looks up from the tea she’s been working on to see what looks like an elaborate wedding in the middle of the woods. Someone has gone through the trouble of lacing orchids along the lower branches of the tall trees even though they belong near the roots and there is a carpet of mulch making up the aisle.

“That is totally what our wedding needs to look like,” Scott says, as if commenting on the score of a game or the state of the drought. “We should call Derek and ask if—”

“What?”

Scott’s head pops up from behind the couch. “Ask if there are special werewolf ceremonies?”

Kira knows she is very capable of shattering the mug in her hands but she also knows if she stops clinging to it she is going to murder Scott McCall.

“ _What_?” she repeats.

Scott clambers up and rests his arms on the back of the sofa, looking at her as if confused by her confusion. “You know something all ancient and—wait, did you want to ask your mom? Obviously she would know better. It’s just I’m afraid Derek is getting depressed after all those Mr. Mom jokes and I—”

“ _WHAT_?”

Scott frowns, looking almost hurt. “What what?”

Kira makes a short noise at the back of her throat. “What wedding?”

“Ours?”

She finally lets go of the mug and plants her hands flat on the countertop. Of their apartment. The one Scott was sharing with Stiles and she occasionally slept over in until it became more than occasional. Until she gave Scott a check for half the rent and he said thanks and then they lived together. “You want to get married?”

“Don’t you?” Scott looks so sad that Kira almost forgets to stay angry.

“I.” Kira feels like she might choke or have a stroke between her desire to scream that she does want to marry him, of course she does—and to scream that he’s an idiot. She settles for taking a slow sip of her tea, closing her eyes and saying _yes_ quietly. So quietly that if Scott weren’t a werewolf he wouldn’t have heard. He looks happy for a fraction of a second before she grabs her keys to the apartment, the ones that were thrown at her in passing on a non-descript afternoon, like an afterthought. “I’m gonna check on Liam.”

“Kira?”

“Not now Scott,” she sighs as she wrenches the door open. “Later.”

* * *

Scott panics, immediately. He panics the second the door closes behind her and it feels like he’s 15 again, fighting his lungs for air.

He calls Derek, leg bouncing as he waits for the other man’s face to appear on his phone. Stiles answers instead, Malia behind him, staring suspiciously at her new phone (the one he knows Braeden got her). Scott hasn’t understood their four-person living arrangement in the year and a half it’s been going on, but the lot of them seem happy.

“You said what?” Stiles looks somewhere between amused and scandalized while Malia just raises her one Hale eyebrow.

Derek pushes in between them and glares at him. “Scott, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I said we should call you for advice on supernatural weddings! I mean, I know you and Braeden did a super-secret boring paper signing somewhere we had to have a pat down…”

“It was a court house, Scott, not the Pentagon. When did you propose?” Derek asks.

Malia pokes her head in, pushing away Derek’s. “What? You never told me you proposed. And Stiles hasn’t said…”

“Stiles hasn’t said,” Stiles interrupts, “because nothing has happened. Has it, Scott? You wouldn’t do me like that.”

“I didn’t,” Scott says as the realization dawns slowly. “I didn’t propose.”

“You didn’t propose,” Derek repeats. “And you don’t know why she’s mad.”

“I see your point,” Scott says, the panic grasping at his heart.

“Get out of my way,” a voice says from behind the gathered little mass. They move out, making way for a huge terrifying belly, followed immediately by Braeden’s own particular glare. “Call your mother.”

“But …”

Braeden had been scary when they first met her. When she and Derek got married she became exponentially more terrifying just off the name Braeden Hale. Now that she’s pregnant, Stiles has handed out first aid kits specific to minor bullet wounds and Derek has made sure every one of their homes is well stocked with Cherry Garcia and Malia is in charge of making sure everyone is well trained in foot rubbing.

“You’ve fucked up and I’m sure it’s not the first time,” Braeden says. “Go call your mom.” Braeden’s go-to advice to Scott had always been shoot him/her/it; now her go-to advice is to shoot him/her/it, and then go call your mom.

Scott nods dumbly at the Skype screen until Braeden leans forward and hangs up. He’s just about to follow her advice when the device starts buzzing again, but this time it’s a phone call from Parrish, which sends up all kinds of red flags.

“What’s up?” Scott answers hurriedly, wondering what new disaster he has to fix in town, what mangled body he and the Sheriff found in the woods.

“Alpha McCall, I’ve been told to tell you that you have fucked up and you shouldn’t expect to see your girlfriend, excuse me, fiancée, for the foreseeable future. Verbatim.”

“She went to Lydia?”

Jordan huffs. “I’m afraid she went to Lydia.”

“Shit,” Scott hisses. “I—I didn’t mean to—I just assumed—”

“Don’t _assume_ , Scott,” Jordan chastises. “You live with the woman.” His voice gets quieter. “What are you gonna do now?”

Scott grabs his keys off the coffee table, slides into his shoes. “I’m going over to my mom’s.”

“So you talked to Braeden. Okay, let me know if you need anything. I’m, uh, gonna be out of the house, I think—”

“No,” Scott protests, heading out the door. “You have to stay and tell me what’s going on. Lydia will literally never tell me what Kira says so you have to do it.”

“Um, I’m not sure that I’m comfortable—”

“You have to,” Scott insists. “Jordan, I love this girl. I’m gonna marry her. I can’t do that if I’ve messed up so bed that she won’t even speak to me. Stay home. I’ll let you know what I come up with.”

* * *

There used to be a Stilinski house in Beacon Hills. There used to be a McCall house in Beacon Hills. Now, though, there’s a Stilinski-Delgado house, and Scott is currently parked outside of it, praying to whatever gods he still believes in.

Inside his mom is blissfully ignorant that her son is a complete idiot and the Sheriff is cooking something that smells delicious and he wants to cry a bit. This is what he wants with Kira and now he's screwed it up.

“Mom?”

She looks up from her laptop and tilts her head. “Scott? Honey, what is it? Do I need to put the ER on alert—”

“No,” Scott says quickly. “No, it's nothing like that.”

He closes the door behind himself and sits across from her at the dining table, feeling his stomach twist.

“I think I screwed up.”

Melissa huffs an exhale through her nose, closing her computer. “On a scale of—”

“I’m pretty sure I destroyed all scales.” He leans forward, twisting his hands together. “I, uh, well—I was talking about our wedding. Mine and Kira’s. And I haven’t proposed.”

He expects a scolding, a tut, something motherly. Instead, what he gets is a huge grin and a boisterous laugh, followed by, “John! Come listen to this!”

“Mom,” Scott whines.

“John did the exact same thing,” Melissa says, beaming as the Sheriff comes into the room. He’s wearing an apron. It’s frighteningly domestic. “‘ _Oh, Mel, this would look great at our ceremony_.’ Men take it for granted—once you’ve been dating long enough.” She looks endearingly at the Sheriff as he takes a seat next to her, looking amused.

“How’d you fix it?” Scott demands, feeling like he’s about to break apart.

“By actually proposing,” the other man grunts.

“But you have to do more than that,” Melissa says. “Honestly, Scott, with the history of your relationship—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She smiles, shaking her head. “Kira and I talk to each other, Scott. I remember listening her tell the story of your first kiss, how you two weren’t even together and you did it like it was nothing. And the first time you told her you loved her… Not to mention the fact that you didn’t even ask her to move in with you.”

Scott winces. “God. I’m terrible at this.”

“You do romantic things for her all the time, kid,” the Sheriff says. “For no reason. You send flowers to her office just because it’s a Tuesday and you take her out to fancy places because she bought a new dress.”

“It’s my favorite thing about you,” his mother tells him, reaching to take his hands. “Scott, you love her. You’re hopelessly romantic all the time. So why are you so bad at it when it counts the most?”

Scott buries his face in his hand and groans. He groans even louder when both of them laugh and the Sheriff ruffles his hair.

“Come up with one of those ridiculous plans of yours,” he says, “and everything will be alright.”

He looks up and his mom leans in to kiss his forehead. “You've got this, Scott. Just…try to think about how momentous it is. That will help.”

And it is momentous. It’s momentous because he’s going to get _married_. He’s known for a while now, that he and Kira were it, that they were meant to be together forever. They’ve been together so long and he still loves her so much—they went to college together, decided to move back to Beacon Hills together, run the pack together. They’re solid, and so strong, and Scott loves her with every part of him. But when he thinks about it all, it’s overwhelming. It’s easier to just remember that he loves her and send her flowers for no reason. It’s easier to be enamored with the way she twirls in a new dress and take her out to make her feel special. All of that feels simple to Scott. But something really big, something really important like a proposal—he’s never even thought about it.

When he gets home, he sits down at the kitchen counter with a pad of paper and his phone, and he starts planning. He starts planning because he’s going to do something fantastic, and it’s going to blow Kira away. It has to. Or else he’s pretty much doomed.

* * *

“I hate him,” Kira says decidedly, scooping ice cream directly from the pint and into her mouth. She frowns at the TV, which is playing something with Rachel McAdams. “I bet no one ever casually suggested marriage to Rachel McAdams.”

“She never dated someone like Scott McCall,” Lydia says wisely. She has her own pint in hand. “Honestly, I expected better.”

“He’s so blasé about everything! He acts like it’s not a big deal at all, like _oh, yeah, we’re obviously getting married, Kira_ , but then he doesn’t ask!” She groans angrily, stabbing at her ice cream. They’ve been having this same conversation for hours. Jordan Parrish is upstairs, obviously hiding from her, and she wants to cry. “I have to marry him.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Lydia tells her.

“I love him.”

“He knows that. Which is why he’s going to fix this.”

“It would be better if there were nothing to fix,” Kira sighs. “It’s not like I don’t _want_ to marry him; I do. I just wish he would’ve done something. Even dinner. The simplest gesture would be better than—this.”

Lydia sets down her ice cream and wipes her hands on her jeans, motioning for Kira to move so she can play with her hands.

“I could give you excuses,” she says with a sigh, “like how he's absentminded about some things and a genius about others.”

“I know,” Kira says softly.

“But there is no excuse,” Lydia says. “Even if it's just asking.”

“Exactly!” Kira nearly throws her spoon at the TV. “I don't need a flashmob. He just had to ask!”

“He'll ask,” Lydia assures her. “But you should give him hell first.”

Kira goes home to do just that. She isn’t sure she wants to—she likes spending time with Lydia, likes the way their bonding makes her feel—but she does anyway, because she needs to tell Scott. She needs to tell Scott that he took their first kiss, took the first declaration of love, and now took a proposal. She can only imagine what’s next—pregnancy? Over breakfast one day, Scott will just say, _This is where our kids are gonna eat_ , and smile at her sweetly before he goes back to reading the newspaper, and Kira’s head will explode.

When she slams open the door, Stiles is there, eyes wide.

“No!” he says. “You can’t be here!”

“This is my home—”

“Nope,” Stiles interrupts, and he grabs her shoulders, turning her back out the door. “Malia!” he calls, and the girl comes running, face bright with a smile.

“Hey,” she says, hugging Kira quickly. “I thought you were at Lydia’s.”

“Well, I was—”

“And we’re going back,” Malia says, looping their arms together. “And Braeden. We’re all gonna go see a movie.”

Kira whips around to look through the door of her apartment. Liam is in there too, and Mason, and Derek, and—

“What’s going on?” she demands. “You can’t all be comforting him! He’s the one who—”

“We’ll talk about it tonight,” Stiles says cheerily, helping Braeden through the doorway. “Have fun at the movies! See you later.” He slams the door and Kira fumes.

“Well,” Braeden says, hands on her belly, “I want some tacos.”

“Let’s get margaritas while we’re at it,” Malia says. “Margaritas and a movie.”

“I hope there’s something with Channing Tatum,” Braeden says as she heads towards the stairs.

* * *

Scott hands lists to each of the guys in the kitchen, a seriousness overwhelming him. “Stiles is going to handle the high school. Liam will take the club. Mason’s going to do the old house. Derek is taking care of the clinic. And I’ll finish setting up everything here.”

“What about the park?” Stiles asks, looking down his list. “I mean, your anniversary—”

Scott nods. “Yeah, okay—I’ll call Jordan. He can do the park.”

Stiles beams. “Awesome.”

Derek hums. “I’ll pick up groceries for you on my way back.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Wash the crystal glasses your mom gave you,” he says. “They’re collecting dust.”

“Okay,” he says, huffing out a breath. “Let’s do this.”

They all have their parts to play, all afternoon long. Scott cleans the entire apartment, gets everything ready, does laundry and makes the bed. He sets up candles and picks up flowers from the florist on the corner. By the time everyone has returned and Derek has put everything away in his kitchen, it’s dark out, and it’s Liam’s duty to drop the cards off at Lydia’s.

* * *

When the doorbell rings, Kira is having a glass of wine on Lydia’s couch, calmly watching television with the rest of the girls. Malia is the first one up, going to open the door, and Kira doesn’t even look. She figures it’s Scott, come to apologize and take her home. She doesn’t know whether or not to go, but she guesses she has to. Jordan left hours ago, and he probably wants to come back to his house, to his girlfriend.

It’s not Scott, though. It’s Liam, entering the house with a stack of envelopes. She frowns, standing.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I’m meant to give you these,” he says, smiling. “Oh. No.” He hands her an envelope, which has a simple _1_ drawn on it. He gives the rest of them to Lydia. “I’ve also been told to say that Scott loves you very much, and he can’t wait to see you.”

“I don’t understand,” Kira says, frowning.

“Open it,” Braeden says, nudging her. “Go on.”

Inside is a plain piece of paper with Scott’s handwriting.

 

_Kira—_

_Tonight, I’d like for you to retrace your steps. The girls will help, but I know you’ll figure it out all on your own._

_Here’s your first destination: We have History together, but sitting here, where we first spoke, I know we have a Future too._

She looks up, heart pounding. “A scavenger hunt.”

Lydia hums. “This seems promising.”

Braeden drives, no one has been able to stop Braeden from driving no matter how long it takes her to get in and out of the driver's seat. She sits there and looks at Kira until she smiles up from the note she's still looking at and nods.

“The high school.”

Braeden turns on the radio and makes the short drive over. Stiles is there, keys in hand. No one understands who found it acceptable to employ Stiles Stilinski at a place where minors are educated much less to give him keys to the place. But here they are.

Kira tries to ask him what's happening but he makes a zipping motion over his lips and shakes his head. “You'll see.”

He leads them through the hallways, past the classrooms and lockers, and out to the back quad, where the little lunch table awaits. The concrete lunch table where Kira first got the nerve to speak to them, where she and Scott interacted for the first time.

It’s covered in flowers and candles. There are little chocolates all along the table, as well as dozens of pictures. There’s their graduation caps, the ones Kira left in storage so many years ago, and the keys to Scott’s old bike. There are pictures of them at Prom, on Senior Ditch Day, on their first anniversary. Kira covers her mouth with her hand, shocked, overwhelmed.

Lydia comes up to her side, hands her an envelope with a _2_ written on it.

 

_My love—_

_I know I took you by surprise the first time I said those three words._

_Go back to the place where it happened and find more waiting for you_.

 

She looks up at Stiles, tears welling in her eyes. He’s taking video on his phone, grinning hugely.

“Sorry,” he says. “This is for Scott to watch later. Go on. I’ll pack everything up for you.”

Lydia grabs her arm. “Let’s go.”

Sinema has been closed for ages, closed just weeks after that night. Now the space is an art gallery. She has no idea how the place is usually set up, if this area is still supposed to be guarded by an alarm—but they come in with no huge wails or flashing lights. There’s no light at all except the one shining right up on the wall where a large red-lettered, hand-painted banner reads _I LOVE YOU._

There’s boxes of candy hearts in a row, leading right to the banner. It’s decorated with stickers and little hearts, and Kira’s chest warms with affection. Liam is there, standing by, recording her reaction. She smiles wetly towards the camera, laughing.

“I love you too,” she says, and Liam grins.

Lydia gives her envelope Number 3.

 

_Darling Kira—_

_We opened our letters from Davis together, another huge step into forever._

“The old house,” she says, still smiling.

Mason is one waiting for them when they arrive, the sidewalk in front of the former McCall house decorated with candles and flowers, much like the lunch table. The poster on the ground has another dozen pictures adhered to it—pictures of them holding their acceptance letters, pictures of them moving out, the first days they spent in Davis. It’s an entire flashback to their Davis adventure, and Kira loves it.

Envelope #4 is just as short as the previous one.

 

_Soulmate—_

_Deciding to move back home was ruff. But you were always more patient than my patients._

They’d had the discussion in Deaton’s office, seconds after Dr. Deaton had offered Scott a job. A real job. When they get to the clinic, sure enough, Derek is standing there, leading them inside where the counter has been taken over by flowers, a huge banner strung across the room, with dozens of _thank you_ s written across in red. It’s decorated with pictures of Scott’s first days on the job. He looks so young compared to now.

Envelope #5 gets handed to her, and she smiles towards Derek’s camera, feeling stupidly giddy.

 

_Love of my life—_

_Our first real anniversary. The first time I could really tell you how much you meant to me, how thankful I was that you were in my life. I’ll never forget that night, when we decided we were truly going to stay together forever._

On their sixth anniversary, they had been in Beacon Hills for a number of months, and it was the first time they could really celebrate. They weren’t in college anymore. They weren’t bogged down in classes and work—they could have a party, which they did.

In the middle of the park, surrounded by trees, there’s a quiet grouping of benches that gets used for parties, and when Kira comes running up, there’s Jordan, standing to the side of those benches. Everything is covered in blinking white Christmas lights, pictures secured to a poster resting right in the middle of piles of candy and flowers. They’re all of that evening, of them all in the park, one big gathering of family and friends.

Scott’s right. It was the first time that Kira _knew_ for sure. They were back home. They were going to be together.

There’s only one envelope left, and her hands shake as she tears it open.

 

_My future wife—_

_When we crawl into bed together at the end of the day, I am the happiest man alive. Come home, and let me prove it to you._

 

When she gets back to the apartment there is no one else there but Scott. He's standing there with that shy, tilted smile of his hand stretched out to her. She takes it and he pulls her in with all his gentle strength. With Scott it's easy to forget that they're impossible creatures. When he's smiling at her with his mouth full of rice krispies, it's easy to forget that he is powerful, that older wolves and foreign witches fear him. When he lays behind her on the couch and giggles at the TV before becoming distracted by her earrings and her hair and her neck and the kisses he lays on her skin, it's easy to forget that she might live forever.

She knows what he's going to offer her is something that emissaries would document for the ages, a Kitsune and a True Alpha bound together. But he kisses her soft and sweet and impossibly shy and confident at once and it's only them. It's only Kira and Scott who love each other.

He leads her into the little room they never use, the little dining room with no space for anything except a table, where they had Christmas last year with their parents, and they all squished into the apartment for the sake of familial bonding. There’s china place settings and crystal glasses, wine and food and a little box, perched right on the corner. Scott picks it up, still holding her hand, and bends to one knee.

“Kira Yukimura,” Scott says softly, his puppy-dog eyes melting her heart. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Yes,” she breathes immediately, and can’t stand still as he slides the ring on her finger. When they hug, Kira doesn’t ever want to let go, wants to cling to him forever, and she kisses him deeply, overwhelmed by her love for him.

Behind her, she can hear their friends cheering, clapping, congratulating one another on a job well done. She doesn’t care. She just keeps kissing him, over and over and over.

Everyone congratulates them distantly, but they clear out quickly enough herded by Stiles and Braeden.

Scott pulls her close again, kisses her deep and long and claiming the way he sometimes is. She pulls him closer to her by the hairs on his neck and bites and claims right back until he's gasping.

“I couldn't imagine not kissing you,” he says in a shaky breath. “Couldn't imagine you not knowing I love you.”

She blinks at him and she understands, on some level, his reasoning. “And you couldn't imagine...”

He shakes his head, no. “I could never imagine not being with you forever. It was all...”

“Obvious,” she finishes.

“So obvious,” he echoes. “Every morning that you’re in bed with me and every day that we spend together and every night when you fall asleep next to me—it’s just what we’re meant to do. Forever.”

“Forever.”

She kisses him again, pouring everything that she can’t say into it.

“I hope you know,” she says, “that you’ve completely outdone yourself. Nothing you ever do will be as fantastic.”

“I’m going to have fun proving you wrong.”

**Author's Note:**

> There is going to be a follow up to this story, except we're not going to call it a series. The follow up includes an explanation of why the married Derek and Braeden are living with Stiles and Malia, and we know (we KNOW) it's going to be bothersome to some people, and so we're not connecting the two stories in any true sense because we want this to stand on its own merit. We still hope you take a look at what we have coming soon, but until then, enjoy the Scira fluff.
> 
> Also, we have another Sterek fic coming within the next couple of days. Modern Royalty AU!
> 
> Thanks for reading, feel free to drop a comment:)


End file.
